Remembrance
by Redaura
Summary: a bit SVy with a twist and a poem! so please r/r anyway.


Title: Remembrance  
  
Author: Redaura  
  
Disclaimers: Nightworld and soulmate principle belongs to LJS.  
  
Spoilers: None that I can see.  
  
Rating: PG so far.  
  
Warnings: I'm insane. *_-  
  
My note: *On knees* please review. I wanna know what you think. If you think its shit, please tell me why… I'll understand if you think it's too cheesy  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
I remember the teacher said we had to write a poem. It had to rhyme she said, but it could be about anything. I didn't know what to write. In the end I decided on the most obvious of rhymes. Bright, night, sight, light. I shoved them willy nilly into stanzas to please the eye and ear as it scans. When the teacher read it she said it was sensitive, caring, showed deep understanding. A deep passion.  
  
To me, then, in the end, it meant nothing. Now in the beginning it is everything. The glory of what I am. The simplicity of muscles sliding under smooth skin, making the pale surface ripple. The tantalising smell of prey filtering through the velvety night, hinting at rain. Not a star shinning except you.  
  
You shine bright. So bright, your light, flame, passion. It is blinding. But I can't look away. The silver cord is binding me to you, and you to me. Lightening sparkles in our sky.  
  
Our landscape is bleak. Jagged and jaded. Matt black glistening ice. Our stars can lighten it. Our flame with fire can melt it, make it blaze with yellows and oranges, reds, rainbows, jewels and crystals.  
  
Now that we have built our home, let us love it. Let us live it. Let us be one.  
  
Darkest of nights...  
  
You're out there...  
  
Waiting for me.  
  
I can feel you.  
  
A moth to a light,  
  
But it wouldn't burn me,  
  
Me you couldn't hurt.  
  
It illuminates all,  
  
Cos its so bright,  
  
You can not hide.  
  
It'll take your life,  
  
Take your meaning,  
  
It will give you sight,  
  
To live with the night.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
It was centuries after her death. And pain was the only thing distinguishing him from the true, never to rise, dead. This was all he had left of her. The only thing she left except her memories and an aching raw wound inside of him.  
  
It had taken a long while to think of the good, not what had happened. When he had left, when she had asked him to stay. When his own brother, and fellow Daybreaker convert had betrayed them all.  
  
The Redfern genes held true, he was still alive. She not. The only lit candle softly guttered, but it still revealed his white knuckles and the buckling table under his fingers. Th cords straining in his neck. He didn't cry. All his tears where dry.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
He remembered... when he'd first met her. She'd been slouched in the brown plastic chair sucking her cheap biro.  
  
He'd taken the only empty desk; he was the only Nightworlder there. He was in the middle of nowhere. Sulking at the circumstances that brought him here.  
  
Already he was the subject of bulling. Strange American accent compared to their rustic witticisms. A strangeness and an aura that no one else had ever seen in the small dale, where everyone was related, everything was safe and known.  
  
She, Auaura, had come in late. No spare seats by her friends, or any others. The bitchy new teacher, with little year sevens to pick on, had informed her that she couldn't perch on the edge of a desk by her friends. She had to sit by him. She'd rolled her eyes impishly at her friends, and dropped in to the seat. She couldn't sit still for her life.  
  
He, Damien, had scowled at the prospect of the teasing that sitting next to a girl would bring, off the lads. The girls where just jealous. He was a laimia; he had the Nightworlds characteristic ice beauty, and the genes for lookin' good.  
  
He'd twisted his face even more after the first five minutes, she was noisily eating her pen, the weak plastic cracking into shards on her moist tongue and tapping her rigger boots rhythmically on the desk.  
  
Damien took the opportunity of her gazing into space, probably thinking of the work, to examine her. A thatch of gold-brown, shoulder length hair. Deep, velvety brown eyes, that had been animated in mischief, now where placid in thought. Full lips, that where damp from demolishing her pen where slightly to large for her long tanned face that was marred by a few teenage spots. She sort of had a dress sense within the school uniform, but Damien put it down to advice from friends. The baggy, grey school jumper hid her developing form well.  
  
He noted she was spitting slivers of plastic out of her mouth. None of his sisters on the enclave would have done that.  
  
"What?"  
  
Belatedly Damien realised that he had been staring. He blinked; mind going into overdrive, until it quickly came up with a grievance.  
  
"Stop kicking the desk!"  
  
The argument got underway straightaway. The consequence was a lunch-time for 'talking' all lesson with no work attempted.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
After they'd spent lunchtime slaving away under the teachers glaring eye that was just waiting for an excuse to pounce. When they'd escaped, she'd looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed, assessing, but tense, bracing her self.  
  
"Wanna hang with me 'n' me mates?"  
  
The proposal after an hour of bitching and squabbling took him totally by surprise. He'd blinked; the surprise must have showed on his face, because she grinned wickedly at him.  
  
He'd agreed. His only complaint was she was annoying and human, but there where no other Nightworlders here, except his mother, and she didn't count, so Damien reasoned that no one would be throwing false accusations around or would know.  
  
"Yeah" he'd given her a half smile back.  
  
He found he enjoyed hanging around with a bunch of vermin more than he old 'friends' in America. A group of now nine. Their first comment had been congratulations on getting Auaura to speak. Normally all you got where hand gestures. She'd flushed mildly at that and given them the finger.  
  
He found out that she was the academic genius of the group, though that was probably because she was the only one bothering to do homework, and her brilliance at language was due to her living in Italy, Germany and France before hand. She was also a bookworm, as books where in all of the countries she had lived in, shy, being afraid of being judged. When she got to know you better she said exactly what she was thinking at the time, with no considerations of the consequences.  
  
Jinni was out going, and smelled of lavender and soapflakes. Auaura and Jinni where joined at the hip, hence Auauras fashion sense was similar to Jinni's.  
  
Then there was Amuck. She was over anything vaguely male and healthy. A short girl with 'chestnut' hair, pockmarked face and a to-short skirt showing skinny legs.  
  
Quinine was another shy one, but once you got her talking there was no stopping her. She looked similar to Jinni with almost black hair, greeny eyes and pale skin. The main difference was the build. Quinine was stocky, yet slim, as Jinni was like a willow.  
  
Ted (Thomas) was a solid chunk of muscle with a moon-like rosy face and a just got out of bed and lost his comb look. Damien was the only lad in the group that knew where and how to use a comb. Ted and Chris had joined the group when Neo started going out with Jinni. And then there was Chloe. She was chic and coolly perfect, in a distant way. Tough as old rope, an interloper from 'out of dale', in foster care. The first and second foster homes had not seen kind to her. Weardale was a nice calm. Boring beautiful – if you liked heather 'n' hills – and the only criminal thing that happened was when Stewart Oldtown got stoned, or pissed, or both and went joyriding with his crowd. And that was their group.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
It was another average day at school. The gang hung out, and Ted asked the biology teacher to marry him, causing a riot of laughter. Nothing happened. All the gang lived in a different village strung out across the dale, so all got the Weardale Motors Bus service home. Except for Amuck.  
  
She got a door to door taxi service as she lived bang in the middle of real nowhere up a dirt track. The taxi going to and throe from school was a plus, as the buses used for school kids where just safe enough to be used on the roads.  
  
On Tuesday it was always overfull. Twelve people in an eight-seater taxi. That meant Caroline got to sit on Amucks knee. That was fine by Amuck, normally, as at least Caroline didn't have a snotty nose, like Chrissy. Only today of all days, Caroline was having a screaming match with Jack, right into her ear, delaying the whole taxi run by ten minutes with tears and sulking.  
  
When she arrived home her ears where ringing. So was her stomach. She was grounded for sneaking out in the middle of the night when forbidden, going with the gang putting goul masks on and standing by the window of a popular kid's party. They'd all freaked out. Then they'd gate crashed it. It had been wicked. The only ick factor was someone had spragged, so now all the gang, except Damien, was being punished.  
  
Her punishment was a months grounding, with no frills for three months. This house was scary to be in when Amucks mother was angry. That why Amuck was keeping a low key and being a golden girl.  
  
Amuck scrunched her body up in the corner of the chair, being as unobtrusive as possible. A good move if you where grounded in this household, watching Buffy. What's more it was a good Buffy, bringing her back to life.  
  
Parents just don't understand anything. She thought rebelliously. Mum freely admits that she has no sense of style of taste in anything and then goes on to say that the music I watch and listen to is trash, Buffy is rubbish and I need to read real books. And what pray am I reading now? Some of the best stuff ever to be written and read. Do they look beyond the front cover? No...  
  
Amuck lost her train of thought, and focussed completely on Buffy, hardly daring to breathe, in case notice was drawn to her.  
  
"Switch this rubbish off!"  
  
"It's not rubbish!"  
  
"NOW! I'm feed up! It's horrible and sadistic!"  
  
Defeated Amuck killed the T.V. and slunk to her room to sulk, finishing off her earlier rant, turning it into grumbling under her breath. She was half was half way up the stone stairs when it happened.  
  
A gut wrenching, shredding pain that made her double up, clutching at her stomach, as if that would relieve it. A ringing in the ears a rhythmic pounding of her head, black spots in front of her eye, pain still clawing in her body, trying to get out.  
  
It did get out. Blood flowed down the stairs, followed by shrieks of agony, then the slicing of Amucks' unconscious form sliding down the stairs.  
  
She vaguely noted her mothers cries, cries and pleadings that continued after the miles away neighbours heard, after the cops had left, even when her husband came home, they ended with her eyes gazing unseeing, her mind going, going, gone.  
  
Of cause Damien had only known that later, when Auaura had collapsed in his arms shaking with grief. Damien found the feel of her new curves against his body appealing, and his Night world upbringing meant he didn't feel to badly about whatever had happened to Amuck. Callous, but true.  
  
The second time, well that was a bit more serious, her parents where dead. From Aid's. Auaura was HIV positive, and scared. She hadn't been going to tell them about the aid's, but Damiens' telepathy was a good way to broach the subject of change.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
She was awake and sitting huddled up in bed. Damien leapt with all the grace of a seventeen-year-old laimia, and absorbed her scream in to his muffling hand.  
  
"Sssssshhhhhhh!" he'd hissed desperately.  
  
"Damien?! What...?!"  
  
"Hush" he insisted gently. "Is your aunt awake?"  
  
"Don't think so"  
  
"Good" Damien let out a sigh of relief for the first hurdle passed. Oh where to begin now? Damien wondered. He took a deep breath and plunged straight in the deep end.  
  
"I know you're gonna die, I know why." In the dark of the room he could see her stiffening. "Wanna know how I know? I read you're mind. I'm telepathic."  
  
"Really?" a faint sarcastic reply.  
  
Really.  
  
She gasped and looked at him intently. "Okay, for arguments sake you're telepathic. Why didn't you help me out in the exams when I said being telepathic would be great as we could check our answers?"  
  
"I'm a vampire." Damien could feel her disbelief, shock and hurt.  
  
"Prove it."  
  
He did. Teeth, super strength and mind control on the dog. He showed her the point, as it where. Vampires didn't die of aids. Vampires where immortal. He also told her the down side, The Nightworld, and why he and his mother where hiding in Weardale. Damien was a born Daybreaker, his mother was hiding from the Council that was weak in England. Auaura would be in constant danger, but she'd be a live.  
  
"Aren't vampires dead?"  
  
"MRS NERG. The seven life processes. Movement, respiration, sensitivity, nutrition, excretion, reproduction and growth. Laimia Vampires do all seven. You'd be a made-vampire.  
  
"Made? Laimia?"  
  
"Maya was the first vampire. Originally a witch she did a spell to give her immortality. The result, Laimia. Vampires that can eat, have babies, age and go to the toilet," he answered the question forming in her mind with an eyebrow raise. "Made vampires are made by exchanging blood. If the person is under twenty they don't make the change and become a ghoul. Or they just burn out, finite. Made Vampires don't age, can't have children, but they do everything else."  
  
"Blood?"  
  
"Have to drink or I get pain and blood lust."  
  
"So that's why the sudden interest in the Tart Patrol."  
  
"Yup. Vamps gotta have a blood bank. Because I wouldn't eat you lot "  
  
"Garlic, silver, stakes, beheading, poppy seeds, carrots through the ears, and you don't seem the religious type. Oh and threshold boundaries?"  
  
"Whoa, poppyseeds? Carrots?"  
  
"Yeah, all vamps according to gypsies will stop and count poppy seeds if they're thrown at them. And to kill a vampire you can stick a stake through the heart, cut its head off and marinade it in vinegar, stick carrots through its' ears and chop its' toes off. Oh and steal its' left sock." She noted his blank expression. "Discworld" she explained.  
  
"Oh". She read all sorts of...books. And he could feel the fear she was blabbering on.  
  
"So what do you think? About Vampirism?"  
  
"I'll try anything once."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
And that had been that. Soft lightening in clear skies. Harsh illumination of every part of his soul. There where no words to describe it. Like taste and sex, it has to be knowledge gained through experience, words only got you so far. But how she had looked the week befor she died...  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
  
  
Vampirely inhuman, beautiful the way that she had never been before. Excited, Jinni was coming for a visit, on account of Jinni knowing about the fake funeral and been able to keep her trap shut. A warm glow, pale of pale skin, deep cherry wood velvet, silky strands of golden hair. Curvaceous. All Damiens', for ever he had thought then.  
  
BRING! RING! Hells bells. Jinni saying she'd had a car crash, and needed a ride, could Damien pick her up alone? She was in company that might be alerted about you know what.  
  
Auaura had said not to go alone. But he had.  
  
When he got to the designated address he'd found his 'big brother' standing over Jinnis' dead body. He hadn't made it home fast enough. That's where he stopped remembering.  
  
Need I bother to continue? I feel I'm following a trend here... 


End file.
